


The Wolf with the Red Roses

by Jubalii



Series: London Nights [2]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:39:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seras is content with her life, isn't she? Or will a target's thoughtless words set the gears in her head to spinning? (Based off of Meatloaf's song "You Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth: Hot Summer Night")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf with the Red Roses

            Seras hadn’t been to the beach in over eighty years. It was a damn shame she wasn’t enjoying it more.

            Not to say that she _wasn’t_ enjoying it; no, her vampire instincts were screaming with pleasure as she chased her quarry through the night. The sand was a strange variable that added extra uncertainty to the routine cat-and-mouse game she played on every mission. She didn’t _have_ to chase them; Alucard could have rounded them up and destroyed them with a wave of his hand. But she wanted to. She actually asked him to back off a bit, to let her get some exercise.

            To speak the truth, Seras had long ago begun to find the missions boring. It was the same thing every night. Bag the vampire, destroy the Ghouls, and be back before dawn for a post-op snack. She could understand why her former master had always loved the really crazy ones; the ones who were off their rockers, who did things in such an upside-down way that left you guessing and stressed and ready to blow someone’s head off. Now _that_ was a bit of fun. If only there were more escaped looneys with access to vampire FREAK chips; still, wishful thinking only goes so far.

            She heard the echo of Alucard’s gun somewhere behind her, but the fact was shoved to the back of her mind as she slipped and slid over the sand in hot pursuit of the wayward vampire. She’d taken her freedom fifty years ago; it had been more of a rebellious whim than any hard soul-searching on her part that had made her march down to the lowest basement levels and demand her freedom. She had been tired of being treated like a cute blonde slave that just happened to be a vampire. She told him off, declaring that she wanted to be his equal instead of his little pet.

            Looking back, she should’ve thought what she was saying through a bit more.

            The reality was that she’d never truly be Alucard’s equal; he’d been experimented on and poked and prodded until no one was actually sure _what_ he was anymore. He didn’t half know himself, but Seras knew he wouldn’t admit to that. Nevertheless, she did get a kickass power boost and some pretty nifty powers that came in handy at the strangest of times. And she didn’t have to do as Alucard said anymore; well, she still took his opinion into major consideration, seeing as 9 times out of 10 he knew what he was talking about. But she didn’t _have_ to, and that was what mattered. She didn’t even have to call him “Master” anymore, and that alone empowered her more than she thought it would.

            Equal or not, they’d still stayed partners on the field per Integra’s request. She sent them on the dangerous missions, the ones the humans had no chance of winning. Sometimes it was mild enough only one of them needed to go, but as a rule they stayed together.

And even without the sort of strange creator-fledgling vampire bond, they still remained companions. Not lovers, but a weird sort of close friendship-bordering-intimacy that adults of different sexes can sometimes share. Sometimes they’d hang out in her tiny bedroom, other times in his massive, empty chambers. The things they did varied each night; sometimes Seras would read aloud while he sat in thought, or they’d talk about the mission they’d been on.

Lately, Alucard usually asked her to continue her strange sort of story she’d invented on a whim, about the entire Hellsing Organization fighting Nazis hell-bent on taking over London in a wild sort of World War III. She’d really let her creativity flow on some of the characters; a werewolf captain with a hodgepodge crew of elite Nazis, a boy with cat ears, a fat lump of a man that was their leader, and an insane doctor with spider-resembling eyeglasses. She’d added drama, pseudo-romance, intrigue, and half a bunch of other things she wished really existed. The Seras of her stories had a very whirlwind life.

 _Blam!_ Seras ducked and rolled as the vampire turned on her and fired what looked like a self-made rocket launcher. She swore she could even see the tape holding it together. Spitting out sand, she wiped the residue off her sweaty face and cursed the sweltering summer night. Now she’d have to go home and shower _again_ , unless she could convince Alucard to pause for a moment and let her take a dip in the ocean.

She had already gotten tired of the chase and doubled her speed effortlessly, coming up on the panicking vampire in mere seconds. She grabbed his arm and tugged, but he twisted under her and they both fell into a heap in the sand. Cursing him loudly, Seras twisted and worked until he was under her, blinking furiously and growling as sand got into her eyes and under her clothes.

“Good God! Just give up; it’s over!” she hissed as he squirmed under her like an oversized fish. He stopped for a moment, his hands working furiously to wring themselves out of her iron grip. He leered up at her and she scowled and arched her body off of his. “Don’t get any ideas. In a few seconds you’re gonna be nothing more than ash.” She reached around for her pistol, trying to ignore the foul breath heaving on her face.

“Hey, here’s an idea: Let’s have a go,” he cooed, bucking his hips and grinding against her until she moved a leg to hold him down. “You can make what you want of me after; just think of it as a man’s last request,” he implored, tilting his head back in the sand and grinning up at her. Seras stared down at him, utterly dumbfounded and wondering if she had even heard him right. Taking her silence as actual contemplation, he winked at her. “I bet I can do things for you that that broody tosser couldn’t even try.”

“That broody tosser” and I have a professional relationship, nothing more. I don’t know what he can do,” she shot back absently. Where was her pistol? She craned her head to see that her holster had fallen off. Damnit. “Besides, his dick’s probably bigger than yours, if that’s any indication,” she nodded at his pants. The man flushed with anger and tackled her to the ground, catching her off guard. She gasped and they rolled around a moment more in the sand before a shot rang out and Seras screeched. The man dissolved into ash with a high-pitched cry and the Draculina hit the ground face-first.

“Was that man bothering you, Police Girl?” an amused voice rang out and Seras picked herself off the ground. She threw a fistful of sand in the voices’ direction, spitting and trying to brush the thick mixture of blood, ash, and sand off of her body and face.

“What the _hell_?!” she shrieked, rubbing the mess from her eyes so that she could see him. “You could’ve shot me!” Alucard drew his gun back into his cloak and shrugged.

“But I didn’t. Be happy that I want to hear the end to that story, Police Girl. Otherwise I may have been tempted.” Seras’ eyes narrowed at his teasing tone and she stalked past him, wiping her face and mashing the gory paste on his spotless white shirt as she passed.

“Fuck you, Shahryar,” she muttered as she stomped her way through the sand towards the bright pulsing lights of helicopters and military vehicles. She heard Alucard’s dark laughter behind her and walked even faster, angry with him without really knowing why.

It wasn’t that she _really_ thought that he’d accidentally hit her instead of the man; he was a better marksman than that! And while the mess he made on her accounted for part of it, she was only mildly irritated by it. She had to take a shower anyway, and she’d vowed after she’d fallen into a maggot-infested rubbish heap that was blocking a sewer/vampire hideout that she’d never complain about mess or smells again. That was unbearable; this wasn’t.

She ducked under the police tape and walked through the men swarming the boardwalk. Some carried away the dead victims of the vampire, others stood around talking as they waited for the cleanup crew. Seras went into a tent and came face to face with the new semi-leader of Hellsing.

The young Sir Irons hadn’t taken full reign of the seat—Sir Integra had wanted to spend as much time as she could teaching him the ropes. However, Seras already thought of him as a leader… even if he was nothing more than a babe. She still couldn’t believe that he was technically older than her; she died at nineteen, any undead years were counted just for her benefit.

Sir Irons paled, his mouth gaping until he recognized her under the sludge. He winced and the edge of his nose curled, and she sighed impatiently at his display of disgust. It wasn’t _that_ bad. She crossed her arms and her boot tapped on the ground until he got under control. Finally he closed his eyes, face green and she threw her hands in the air.

“Mission over, guys killed, and now half of him is on my face. Grow a pair, why don’t you?” she snapped angrily and stomped back out of the tent. No doubt about it; the new leader was nothing more than a child. Sir Integra must be senile to think he could handle Hellsing one day.

The soldiers parted for her like the Red Sea, sensing that she wasn’t in the mood to chat. She left the crime scene and began to walk down the beach, away from it all. She walked the opposite way from where she chased the target, not wanting to accidentally run into Alucard again.

She thought twice and then took off at a dead run, running fast enough over the sand that it buckled and moved after she had already left it long behind. She ran for what seemed like hours before she found herself at a completely deserted spot of beach. Looking around, she was satisfied that no one had followed her; not that they could’ve, she would have been nothing more than a blur.

Taking in the scenery, she realized that she’d found a little bay that curved into a pool of sorts. The waves weren’t as strong and the moon shone on the surface of the water, able to reflect itself. She walked to its edge and looked into the water, watching the tiny sea creatures do their thing, unaware that above them someone surveyed their every movement. She reached in and stirred the water. They disappeared into the sand and under the rocks in a flash, leaving no trace that they’d ever been there.

Taking off her boots, she decided that she might as well wash off after all. She laid her socks on top of her boots and began to take off her police gear. She didn’t need all of it anymore, but it completed the uniform and more often than not, she found herself going undercover as a policewoman to lay traps. Finally she emerged dressed only in her skirt and undershirt, both of which she didn’t mind getting wet.

Diving into the water, she giggled to herself. The age-old myth was that vampires couldn’t cross into moving water or even step into the water, unless there was a bridge or something to aid them in crossing. Seras had asked Alucard about it, even though she knew that it wasn’t true; she’d waded into rivers and even gotten her shoes stuck in creek mud before her master had ever told her about the rumor.

Alucard confessed that he didn’t know where it came from, unless the vampires themselves had invented it, back when hardly anyone knew how to swim. Seras understood; a vampire at the bottom of the ocean would have to waste away from starvation. That was a long and painful death, and people-turned-vampires who couldn’t swim would naturally warn their fledglings away from the water. Humans would cross the water, but the vampires would hesitate, leading to the creation of the myth.

The truth was that water didn’t repel vampires any more than crosses or garlic did. It was a silly myth that humans had used for centuries to help themselves sleep at night. She had half a thought about how many humans were hunted down by swimming vampires, who wouldn’t live long enough to tell the others that the myth was false. She laughed and instantly cringed; laughing at something so horridly sadistic sounded more like something Alucard would do.

She turned over on her back and rested on the silt-laced bottom of the bay, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh. The best part of being a vampire was that she could breathe down here and it was just like breathing air, if you didn’t mind the slight sting of the salt. She rubbed her face and arms, letting the disgusting sludge wash away before relaxing and letting the sounds of the waves far above her head lull her.

She didn’t understand how she could still be so cross with her former master. He hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary; he was his same sarcastic, bloodthirsty, quasi-genial self. And that angered her? No, not really. It was something deeper. She lay quietly, pretending that she was part of the ocean and let whatever it was come to the surface of her mind in its own time. She had time to spare; as long as she was home at Hellsing by dawn, no one would say anything about her not returning with the other troops.

Finally it dawned on her; it was what the target himself had done. Not the sexual harassment—that was commonplace with males that came onto the wrong side of her gun. It was what he’d made her admit. _“That broody tosser” and I have a professional relationship, nothing more._ It was the truth, but why did it leave such a bad taste in her mouth?

It wasn’t that she’d never thought about something… more with Alucard. After all, she was a woman with woman’s tastes and he was a tall, dark, handsome man that looked as though he’d stepped out of a romance novel. Well, he had that air until he opened his mouth, anyway.

But he’d never acted as though he wanted anything beyond the familiar camaraderie that they shared. He seemed perfectly content with what they had. But then again, maybe he was bad at picking up signals. Most men were. And she’d been dropping a shitload of them for the past… _Cor_ , how many years had it been? Twenty? Thirty?

It had started so many years ago…. She’d just looked at him one night, during a mission. He’d been shooting up a storm, his guns smoking and his trademark grin etched onto his features. She’d stopped in her tracks, dropping the filthy vampire scum she’d killed a moment before and just watched. He was glorious, reveling in the kill. He was everything a proper vampire should be; ferocious, sinister, even vindictive, but able to smooth it over with a suave charisma and dashing good looks. Seras had felt her heart in her throat, unable to breathe as he swept by and flashed her a bloodthirsty look.

After that, everything had gone downhill. She found herself smitten with feelings she hadn’t thought of since her puppy-love ridden teenage years. When he walked by her and she caught a whiff of his natural scent, laden down with fresh gunpowder and something undefinable, she shivered. When they fought oncoming hordes of undead Ghouls and stood flush, back to back with guns raised as the blood splattered all around them, she couldn’t breathe. And when she told her stories and looked up to see him staring at her intently, so wrapped up in the yarn she was spinning, she felt her insides boil and turn to mush.

Sure, she tried to get him interested; a little look here, an errant touch there, but he was hopelessly oblivious or ignoring her completely. So she had tried to put it out of her mind. Forget about it. Kill the whole thing. But it was hard, oh so hard. She yearned to be by his side, fighting vampires and taking meals and reading together and so many other things. She knew that she was technically doing that now, but there was something different about doing it as friends and doing it as lovers.

She knew, of course, that she’d never get anything close to a confession of feelings from him. He wouldn’t hold her hand on missions or wrap her in a hug when she returned from a long day of training or even whisper sweet nothings in her ear when they sat together. That would be absolutely silly and honestly, she would be mortified to hold _anyone’s_ hand on a mission. But to acknowledge that would be to say that she knew there were things she wanted that he would never be able to give her.

She knew that, and the most frightening part was that she didn’t care. She had long ago decided that if she loved him, and felt some tiny, miniscule part of him that almost managed to care about her in the same way, she would be happy. Well, she’d be content, which wasn’t the same as happy but it was better than nothing.

But, she thought as she lay on the bottom of the bay and let the water hold her, did that mean that she was settling for something less just to be with him? That somewhere out there she could have the compassion that she craved, if she just waited? What if the feelings she felt for Alucard were a woman’s version of puppy-love, born from an old, long-dead bond and constant companionship?

She pushed herself upward suddenly, tired of lying on the bottom of the sea. Surfacing, she swam to a boulder that jutted from the water and pulled herself up on top of it, looking out to sea after she glanced back to make sure her clothes were still where she left them.

She sat silently, her knees curled up under her as she remembered a statue she’d seen in a book once of the Little Mermaid, also sitting on a boulder and staring out to sea. For a while, she forgot all serious thought and played with the idea of her being a mermaid, or at least swimming out with a supply of blood to the deep ocean to see if mermaids actually existed. She allowed herself a small daydream about finding Atlantis and becoming a multi-millionaire. She wondered if it was even possible.

Something caught the corner of her eye and she looked over to see something foreign bobbing in the water. Leaning over, she picked up the object and stared at it. It was a single red rose, already wilting from seawater but still beautiful. Seras frowned, wondering where it had come from. She looked around, wondering if there was a way for it to have broken free from some lover’s bouquet and drifted to her bay. But it had come from the wrong direction, from the shore itself rather than the sea outside.

Staring in confusion at the rose, she ran the pad of her finger over the rim of one petal. Poor little red rose, all by itself. She tilted her head, sighing as she looked at the dim crimson color in the pale moonlight. It was wilty, but a bit of icy water would remedy that. She sat it beside her, planning on carrying back to her room with her. It’d been decades since she had flowers in her room, fresh or not.

Glancing up, she frowned even further as she realized the bay had gone all misty. It had rolled in out of nowhere, clouding up the moon’s light and leaving her with only a dim impression of the water against the backdrop of the ocean. She scowled as the mist rolled across the water. She had been enjoying the view.

“As was I, Police Girl.” Seras froze as the silky words sounded in the air, hands clenching her knees. Of course the mist came out of fucking nowhere. It always did, didn’t it? She frowned, trying to show him (and she knew that _somewhere_ he was watching her) that she wasn’t amused with his teasing. He chuckled softly at her glowering expression, the sound echoing in the night. Suddenly cold air chilled her back and she knew he was right behind her, intangible, but still there nonetheless. “Seras.”

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” she stated to the empty bay before her, not bothering to look back. “I would have come back before dawn.” _Not that you would’ve cared,_ she added to herself. She knew even as she thought it that her reasoning wasn’t entirely true; most likely he would have at least wondered where she was. Cold air danced over her calves and she drew up closer, away from his phantom fingers.

“I know,” he responded. “But even so, you were lying so quietly in the water, and I wondered what you were about.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding; so he’d been watching her all that time. _Just like the sea creatures, Seras._

“I was washing the blood and sand off, for your information,” she replied curtly. “And I was thinking about things while I dried off.” Ghostly breath made the hairs on her neck rise and she growled low in her throat, wondering what _he_ was about.

“Yes, I’m well aware of your thinking,” he murmured, still touching her lightly on her arms and legs, almost chastely in his movements. “Of mermaids and Atlantis,” he purred and she blushed, _hearing_ the grin in his disembodied voice. The chilly air pressed even further into her back, as though he was pushed up against her. “And… of little looks and errant touches,” he practically whispered and she stiffened, her face becoming hotter than ever. Finally she pulled away, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

“Don’t tease me,” she pleaded harshly, her voice quavering despite her efforts to keep it steady. “Not about that. Not when I’m trying so hard to…” she faltered and turned away, staring intently at the cliff formations jutting out over the ocean on the far side of the bay. There was silence for what seemed like hours before he spoke again, so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

“No, I suppose I shouldn’t. Not you.” There was no pity in the words, but rather a sort of begrudging respect, as if she’d earned enough of his approval to be exempt from such cruel treatment. She felt her heart clinch; she hated the fact that he begrudged anything about her. She buried her head in her knees and heard him laugh again, this time a harsh bark that held nothing but ice. “There you go, little turtle. Back into your shell, away from the world. These eighty years have done nothing for you.”

“Can you blame me?” she hissed back, slamming her hands on the rock and wishing she had enough sense to slap him, forgetting that he wasn’t even tangible at the moment. Her hand felt the stem of the rose and grabbed it, if only for something to hold. She brought it up to her nose and smelled the soft, familiar scent. “Well, can you?” she repeated after a moment, making a major effort to stay calm.

“Seras.” In his voice, her name was many things. This time, it was a sigh of defeat, of “you have a point”. It wasn’t an answer; he was slithering out of answering her. She knew him. He wouldn’t admit that after all these years, he still kept her from being happy. It was for his own selfish reasons, she knew.

“Oh, Seras.” The whispered sound had weight to it, as if he’d said it a million times before. She didn’t reply, instead staring at the rose in her hand and slowly bringing her knees down again. She laid the rose in her lap and stroked it, as if it were something that needed comfort. She ran her fingers over the gouges where the florist had removed the thorns, the tips of her nails dipping into the discolored ovals. He stayed behind her, a unmovable mass of air. She wondered if he was watching her, wishing her fingers were in another place. She immediately discarded the thought, internally berating herself for not letting it go. Why couldn’t she let it go?

“Don’t think I never heard you, all those years.” His voice startled her; she thought he was finished speaking. “I’d always hoped—” he paused. “I’d always imagined that you were only indulging in fantasies, and you’d grow out of it eventually.” Her heart sunk. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, to share that much of my existence.” She didn’t answer. He spoke again, more firmly. “You don’t know what you ask of me. You expect too much. I _will_ disappoint you.”

“I’ve been with you for eighty years. I don’t think—”

“Eighty years is but a drop in a bucket!” he snarled into her ear. Cold hands grabbed her shoulders, shaking her roughly. The rose fell off her lap and she panicked, managing to stop its descent into the water with her foot. “What is eighty years, when _eight hundred_ stretch before you!? Eons, Seras! _Eons_!” He shook her hard, as if trying to shake some sense into her. Her teeth chattered, and she didn’t dare reply until he’d stopped. The cold mass vanished, as if he’d walked away from her, but she knew he was still there. She carefully rolled the rose back up the boulder with her foot before sitting it safely beside her again.

“Eighty years, eight hundred years, it’s all the same,” she finally countered, her voice icy. “Because no matter how long I live, I’m forced to be alone in it, aren’t I?” There was no reply and she looked over her shoulder even though she knew she’d see no one. “Even after all that time is gone, you won’t let me go.” There was no sound beyond her own harsh breathing. She searched the white sands, looking vainly for any sign that proved he was still there. “Are you going to let me go?” she asked, already knowing the answer. He knew that she knew the answer, too. He’d never hidden it from her, although he’d never said it outright either.

“No.” The words were iron, final. She clenched her jaw and looked back out to the misty ocean. He knew; they both knew, that whatever hope of true happiness she’d had vanished in a dusty, abandoned cathedral in Cheddar.

“Then why can’t you just accept me? Even if I am making the wrong choice.” She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling a stress knot in her shoulder before scratching her pulse point where two faded scars remained. She could feel his eyes on her and, true to her instincts, a cold touch followed where her hand at been, smoothing over the bite wounds. “You give mixed signals, you know that?” she growled at him. He didn’t answer, but the rose moved as though he too were touching it lightly. She turned back to face the ocean and steadily ignored him, sensing that he’d talk when he had his thoughts together.

“On a hot summer night,” he started, voice pensive, “would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?” She blinked, confused for a moment before frowning. After all that, all he could think about was a bite to _eat_?! That was it; she was going to punch him the second he became a body again. Still, there was something in it for her—being bit was a helluva good time, even if deep down she cringed over the hedonistic, barbaric, unnaturalness of it. _Will he offer me his mouth?_ The words floated to her head out of sync with the rest of her thoughts, and she sighed when she realized he wanted her to answer him. Wasn’t that some weird, adult Red-riding hood bullshit?

“Will he offer me his mouth.” she said in a deadpan voice, her patience already at its limit. She practically felt his amusement.

“Yes,” he murmured, a laugh in his tone. She tried to get her thoughts back on track, but a cold prod to the kidney had her grumbling.

“Will he offer me his… teeth?” she asked, as if she didn’t know what it was he wanted from her, and how he was going to get it. It was silly; it really _was_ like Little Red. She knew who the wolf was, she was just waiting for him to stop toying with her and get the damn thing over with.

“Yes,” he replied, his breath on her scars. She tried to keep from shivering as she spoke again, this time purposefully dragging it along out of spite.

“Will he offer me his jaws?” she cooed, the perfect picture of innocence. The cold hands rested on her thighs and squeezed warningly; don’t get cocky.

“Yes,” he said with the impatient lilt of a parent whose child asks far too many questions. She leaned back into the cold, one hand resting on top of her thigh where his was. She felt him solidify under her touch and looked down to see her tiny hand resting on top of his gloved one, runes dark as a void against the white.

“Will he offer me his hunger?” she breathed, her eyes locked on their hands on her thigh. Something about it seemed so… right, how his dwarfed hers and how it was almost warm under her touch. He made a move, his lips answering her and fluttering against the back of her neck as he moved in for the kill.

“Yes,” he groaned, his mouth opening wide. Her hand tightened on his and she practically shouted.

“ _Again_!” Her voice cut in the night air, but only the waves were around to take note. He paused, fangs millimeters from her throat. She was beside herself; he _never_ stopped. Not for her, not for anyone. But there he was, still as a statue and thrumming with irritation and confusion. He wanted to know why she stopped him. She licked her lips and slowly, oh so slowly moved his hand up her thigh and across her stomach. If he’d been still before, he was stone-cold dead now—he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe; but then again, neither did she. They sat there for the longest time, her damp shirt riding up under their hands as she stopped him just above her stomach.

“Will he offer me his hunger?” she repeated, her voice almost inaudible. It was torture for her. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but he’d started it. Hadn’t he? His hand moved under hers, sliding her top up further to feel her smooth skin. She bit back a moan as his other hand slid up further and cupped her breast, sending shivers down her spine. Suddenly he was breathing harshly in her ear, clutching her to him.

“Yes,” he repeated, but there was something more there this time. She’d passed the point of no return; they weren’t playing around anymore. She kept her one hand on his, the other moving around to feel his leg behind her. She smoothed over the soft leather of his pants, letting her head fall to the side and staring up at the midnight of the sky. He hissed in her ear and she bit back a sigh, melting into his rougher caresses.

“And will he starve without me?” She found the words tumbling out of her mouth, without clear thought. Of course he would; it was the same for her. They needed each other, admit it or not. For eighty years they’d needed each other. Her breath hitched as he squeezed her brusquely, his nails raking over her skin through the gloves. She longed for him to take them off, to touch her skin to skin, to do horribly wicked things to her on this rock with his bare hands, consequences be damned. He must have been listening to her mind as he grasped her even tighter, fingers biting into her skin as he felt every part of her he could reach under her shirt.

“ _Yes_ ,” he answered, his voice nothing more than a ragged gasp. She quivered as his hands wandered below her stomach, down the length of her skirt and began tugging it up. She clawed at him, scooting back to touch every bit of him that she could. Eighty years was too damn long, in her opinion. They should’ve had this conversation long before. “Yes, Seras,” he said, but she didn’t know if he was seconding her unspoken thoughts or just saying it because he was enjoying himself. He reached her panties and she laid a trembling hand on his arm. He paused for her (only for her, she now knew) and she realized that she wouldn’t be happy with herself until she made him answer her. Even if it wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“And does he love me?” The question made him stop completely, his hands slowly running back down her legs. She sighed, her eyes closing as she tried not to frown. She knew it was probably asking too much of him. No, it _was_ asking too much of him. He didn’t like it when she did that.

“Yes.” It was said for her benefit, holding no emotion whatsoever, and yet—he’d moaned it against her skin, his mouth sliding over her neck, her cheek, kissing her softly. Maybe it held a bare, tiny flame of truth for her. And if it did, then that was enough for her.

“Yes,” she answered back, guiding his hands back under her skirt. He grinned against her throat.

“On a hot summer night, would you offer yourself to the wolf with the red roses?” he asked again, as if he didn’t already know the answer. She melted into his arms, arching her neck.

“ _Yes_.”


End file.
